It's A Brother Thing
by Amy Renee
Summary: Short pointless drabble. Really just an excuse for a somewhat brotherly moment. I may add on to it later. No slash!


It's A Brother Thing

Connor stirs awake, unsure at first what has roused him. He blinks against the darkness of the room and takes in the still somewhat unfamiliar surroundings.

It has barely been a month since he and his brother and father had fled the States and come back to Ireland, only one month since the three of them had taken out Papa Joe. It's been nearly four since the death of their friend, Rocco, and almost five since the Lord had called upon them.

And the memory of it all is still all too fresh their minds.

Life was very different now. It wasn't only because of him and his brother having to come back to Ireland after having lived in America for almost six years. It wasn't even because they were reunited with their life-long absent father.

It was because of what they had done back in Boston, their 'mission.' It wasn't because they felt remorse or regret. In fact, he and his brother had fully embraced their calling. And there had even been a little satisfaction taken in sending those men to be judged by He who would deliver true justice.

But as quickly as it had started and changed their lives, it was over.

They had left soon after taking care of Papa Joe, knowing that their job was done, that things needed time to cool down.

At least for now.

They hadn't even realized how much it had changed their lives until it was over and everything was eerily calm, but not like before. A lot had changed now. There was no going back to their old lives and they would never be the same again.

It was surprisingly surreal and difficult to adjust to.

It only takes Connor a couple of seconds to realize what woke him, to feel that something isn't quite right. He knows that feeling, and heeds to it.

He props himself up on his arms and his eyes instinctively fall on the form of his brother on the adjacent bed.

It's not just a twin thing in which he is able to read and sense him. It's a brother thing.

Murphy is curled on his bed, back to Connor, his arms bent in front of himself. The blanket is pulled half way up his upper body, and Connor can see the slight shaking of his bare back, standing out pale against the blackness of the room. He can hear the quiet hitches of breath.

Murphy has been stoically quiet since Yakavetta's house, which is unlike Connor's usually rowdy and vibrant brother. Connor had sensed the change in him. He had changed himself, but Murphy's was a little deeper, a little darker. Connor had seen the gratification in his fraternal twin when they had shot Yakavetta. He hadn't blamed him.

Murphy was at a loss after Rocco died, silently wondering if his insistence to let Rocco be a part of their Holy mission had all but condemned their closest friend to death. Connor had never once thought he was at any fault. He had willed his brother to believe that, because it was the truth. Though he was reminded of his words to Murphy before - _"It was your idea to bring him in"_ – and they pained him now.

Their calling, their father, Rocco - It had all been a lot to adjust to, even for them. Connor tended to be the calm and collected one, and he tended to accept things for what they were. Murphy was more impulsive and stubborn. He was always the more sensitive and expressive of the two. He came in his own time. No one could rush him.

The two of them rarely spoke about things. They didn't have to. They understood each other just fine without talking. Connor had hoped that leaving the city, the country, having their father back, and being together, away from it all - peaceful – would allow him and especially Murphy to reconcile whatever he needed to with himself. But he had been quiet, and Connor had been waiting. He would always wait for his brother.

Connor crosses the small space to his brother's bed and lays on top of the blanket next to him, putting an arm around him and pulling his back against his chest. It's a simple gesture, one they've implemented more than once throughout their lives, whenever one was scared, upset or sick. Connor knows this is why he has waited.

Murphy doesn't move, but begins to let himself cry a little harder, and Connor feels each silent sob wrack his brother's body against his. He pulls him closer, burying his face in the back of the darker hair.

Their mother never having told them, they have always argued over which one was the eldest. It's more or less just for the sake of arguing, because deep down they both know and always have; Connor has always felt and been a little more protective, and that feeling isn't because he loves his brother more than Murphy loves him, or because Connor is the calm collected one of the two. It's because that is just how older brothers feel.

Eventually Murphy's breathing evens out into a rhythm Connor knows as well as his own. He can feel the soft beat of his brother's heart through his back and in his own chest, their rhythms matching - Two hearts, one beat, two halves of a whole. And that's how he knows they will be just fine - together they always are.


End file.
